The Best Sensei: is the One Standing in Front of You!

Who’s the best sensei at your dojo?

The one standing right in front of you.

I recently took a [BJJ] class in [Oshawa, Ontario], at a place called [Mamute] — shout-out to [Igor] (mamutemaa.com).

The door was open, and there was a [Portuguese] guy coaching a young boy for his upcoming [Muay Thai] fight.

He was kind, generous, patient — you could see he cared.

The coach was young, tattooed, Portuguese — so eh pa! — but wise beyond his years.

He knew what he was talking about, and he communicated it beautifully.

Then came the class I’d actually come for.

A [blue belt] — who clearly had no idea how to work the register — welcomed me in.

He tied on his belt and taught one of the best [BJJ] classes I’ve ever had.

(Sorry, [Dom] — nobody’s better than you.)

[Dom’s my best friend, if you didn’t know.

And for the record, he’s got no ego either.

But that blue belt? No ego. Just confidence, clarity, and kindness.

That’s rare.]

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I’ve been training lately with my friends, students — colleagues? I don’t even know what to call my team anymore.

And what I’ve realized is this:

When you put everything else down — rank, role, title — all that matters is that we show up.

We move together.

We learn together.

We exchange energy.

Does it really matter who’s standing at the front?

Or is it more important that someone is — willing to give what they know, to anyone who wants to learn?

Our team doesn’t show up because of a paycheck.

They get a paycheck because of what they give.

And we do our best to share it around.

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It’s not about who’s got the best punch or kick,

who’s been training the longest,

what title you wear,

or who taught you.

The transmission of knowledge doesn’t care about any of that.

We rise because people show up.

Now, look — if I put a six-year-old orange belt in front of your kid and say,

“Here, teach,”

then that better be one exceptional six-year-old orange belt.

But sometimes, there’s beauty in the shy fourteen-year-old —

the one just looking for a place to belong.

The one who thinks, “Hey, maybe I can help.”

The one another shy kid looks at and thinks, “I can be that.”

Isn’t that the essence of teaching?

The purest form of transmission?

Someone needs to learn.

Someone shows up to teach.

Not every class will be memorable.

But when people keep showing up, the memorable ones start happening more often.

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Maybe I’m harping back to the stories my Sensei tells about the old days —

or my own memories from back then —

and saying, “Let’s bring that energy back.”

Maybe we could lose the ego, the politics, the noise —

and just get back to learning.

Maybe I’m not taking karate forward,

maybe I’m taking it backward —

back to when everyone just wanted to learn something.

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Look — we all run dojos that are real businesses.

They have expenses, bills, and people who deserve to be compensated for their time and dedication.

No one’s perfect. My teacher isn’t perfect. Neither am I.

But he did so the rest of us could learn.

And learn we did.

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So no, you won’t see me in the dojo every day.

Don’t worry about me — I’m doing cool things.

Some of it’s related to martial arts, some of it isn’t.

But everything I do — or don’t do — is thanks to a dojo that keeps us all moving,

keeps churning out people who want to learn and share.

Sure, sometimes it stinks.

But that’s not the point.

The point is — you have to show up.

Maybe I’m not taking karate anywhere.

Maybe that’s just where it’s going.

There are those who accept — and those who resist.

And the best sensei?

The best sensei is the one standing right in front of you.

And that’s science.

Disagree?

Fact check me.

Kyoshi Eric Vinagreiro B.A, B.Ed

See more of my work at ericvinagreiro.substack.com